


Warm Heart

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: Sequel toWarm Home. This time Scarlet catches a cold and Solas, still not used to sickness and diseases, panics and hates himself even more, because he’s the reason elves - and consequently Scarlet, too - can fall sick, now.





	Warm Heart

Her throat aches and her head feels light when she opens her eyes. Her sleep and dreams have been pleasant and beautiful as always, but something felt weird as she wandered through the Fade hand in hand with Solas. An odd feeling at the edge of the mind, like an annoying sting or light burn.

She probably caught a cold in Emprise du Lion, when she fell into a freezing river and drenched herself with its icy, uncomfortable water, which seemed to reach her very bones and whose touch left her only much later, despite Solas’ warming magic and the comfort of a bowl of boiling stew.

Her nose is running, she can feel it. It’s stuffed, too, and she scrunches it miserably, trying to find some comfort and let more air into her lungs, but that sends a great pang of pain run through her head and she whines pitifully.

She hates getting sick. Being sick meant not being useful back in her clan, and even though nobody ever let someone feel bad for it, the best huntress couldn’t afford to stay in bed. Also, despite the Keeper’s healing magic, the harsh Dalish life could worsen one’s conditions and she remembers one particular hard night when her fever refused to go down and her parents stayed by her pallet for the whole time.

She touches her forehead, then her neck and armpits and she knows she has got a high fever just like that time. She wonders if Solas knows any old elven magic to help her, but then she remembers the time when he got sick and he had no idea what to do and what a cold actually was.

He’s still sleeping soundly next to her and her next thought goes to his wellbeing. He risks to catch her same illness, if they stay so close to each other, sharing the same air. Keeper Deshanna never allowed the other members of the clan to visit a sick friend for that very reason.

She softly groans, both because her throat hurts immensely and because Solas will inevitably worry about her and believe _he_ is the one who caused her to fall sick in the first place. He recovered from his cold just a few days ago and he will surely come to the conclusion that he was contagious enough to spread it to her. And that will lead him to feel terribly bad, guilty, something she noticed he does a lot, and she doesn’t want that. She wants him to be happy, not feel bad about himself!

She holds her breath and tries to crawl out of bed without waking him up. It shouldn’t be difficult, since he sleeps pretty heavily, but _today_ of all days he does not or maybe he was already half-awake in the first place, because his hand immediately touches her waist and his husky, tender voice says, making heat fill her belly despite her miserable condition:

“Good morning, _ma vhenan_.”

“Ah.” She desperately tries to think of a way to avoid replying. He will hear her stuffed voice and understand what’s happening. But if she doesn’t reply, he will understand something is wrong _all the same_ and then he will look at her face and see her shiny eyes and red, running nose.

Mumbling a quick prayer to the Creators inwardly, she turns to him, trying to show her best, healthiest smile, hoping her fever can’t be seen that easily. But just then, just as Solas’ lips curl into a bigger smile and her heart thumps faster, happily, in her chest, she sneezes.

Right on his face, with no way for her to hold it back, so sudden it was.

She gasps, ashamed and shocked, and she’s about to apologize when another sneeze comes and then another one. She whines, pressing a hand on her mouth and keeping her eyes shut, to avoid seeing Solas’ expression. She is definitely as red as the tomatoes her clan used to steal from the rich Free Marcher farmers, now.

“I’m sorry!” she babbles and her panic grows, because her nose is running more, now, and she has nothing to dry or blow it with. She needs to get up and take her handkerchief, but she feels too weak and feverish and her head feels lighter than ever.

“My love!” Solas’ voice sounds concerned and as panicked as hers and she tentatively opens one eye to look at him. There are still some droplets on his face and she groans, falling back onto her pillow and refusing to look at him again.

“Scarlet.” Solas’ worry is reaching infinite levels and she feels even worse. “Scarlet, are you sick?” He touches her forehead and gasps, then he makes a soft noise that sounds like a choked sob. “Yes, you are! Scarlet, look at me!”

She does and he’s giving her such a sweet, loving look that she can’t help but cuddle a bit into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” she repeats lamely, but he shakes his head, his long, calloused fingers touching her cheeks and hair in the most beautiful way.

“For what, my light?” he says and his voice is still slightly high with panic, the same panic visible in his eyes, too. “This is _my_ fault! I should have…”

“No, it’s not.” she firmly says, glaring at him. “Solas, I’m sick because I fell into freezing water in the middle of a snowstorm. Not because you caught a cold.”

He sniffles and frowns, ready to berate himself, ready to bear the fault, but she hushes him with a finger pressed on his soft lips and continues, smiling sweetly, albeit a bit weakly due to the fever: “Solas, _ma vhenan_. It’s not your fault. Alright?”

He hesitates for a long while, then he begrudgingly nods and asks timidly: “What do you need? Tell me and I will bring it to you, even if it is in the Black City itself.”

She giggles, touched by his melodramatic concern, which is endearing and adorable, but then a coughing fit shakes her body and the panic in Solas’ eyes turn into full despair, as if he never heard anyone cough before, despite all the sick refugees they saw during their travels.

“Scarlet!” he exclaims, grasping her right hand and squeezing it tightly, so much it almost hurts. “I will go call the healer!” He jumps out of the bed, without even glancing at his clothes neatly folded on the couch next to hers, ready to dash out of the room with his night shirt and pants, the comfortable ones she sewed for him.

“Wait!” she manages to croak out and he immediately goes back to her, cupping her cheek and taking her hand again. She nods at the pitcher of water on the small table near the couch and asks timidly: “Could you get me some water, please? I’m parched.”

“Of course.”

He runs to the table and comes back to the bed in less than five seconds, filling a cup with water and handing it gently to her. He caresses her hair as she drinks it and when she’s finished, she smiles at him and says: “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else?” He kisses her and she makes an alarmed sound, looking at him with outrage.

“Solas! I don’t want you to get sick again!”

“Hush.” He smiles and brushes back her hair from her sweaty forehead. “Can I bring you something else? Food, more pillows?” His eyes widen and he quickly gets up, heading to the small storeroom where they keep their spare sheets, a broom, and the mannequin Scarlet uses to sew.

He comes back with a pile of blanket in his arms and he sets them all around her in what looks like a strategic plan, all in different points of the bed, ensuring no draft can touch her, that all her feverish skin is adequately protected.

“Oh, Solas.” she sighs fondly, looking at him with a sweet, patient smile. He also brought some furs and their bed looks like the den of a wolf, now. She can’t deny it’s marvelously cozy and warm, but her fever is making her sweat a lot and she longs for some kind of comforting cold.

“You must sweat to lower your fever as quickly as possible.” Solas says with a stern look before she can protest, already recognizing the pout on her face. He reminds her of Keeper Deshanna for a second. “I know how this works, now!”

“Fine. I’ll stay among the hot furs.” she gives in, smiling at him again, and he smiles, too, a bit relieved. Then he shows her something else he retrieved, a clean, large handkerchief, and he presses it against her nose, saying gently: “Blow, _vhenan_.”

She does so and he taps her nose with the handkerchief after she’s done. Then he kisses her again, making her groan in defeat, and looks for another cloth to put on her forehead.

“It will lower your fever.” he says, trying to sound sure and confident, even though his panic obviously hasn’t left him yet. “Here, found it! Where’s the water?”

“Right there.” she reminds him, giggling, pointing at the pitcher he left on the dresser near the bed. “Solas, calm down. It’s just a cold.”

“You need rest. You need good, nutritious food!” he insists, wetting the cloth he found with shaky hands. “You need… You need…” He takes a deep breath and turns to her, watching her feverish, shivering form, her red-rimmed eyes, her crimson nose and pale cheeks. His lips quiver for a second, his fear and sorrow shine through his eyes, then he attempts to regain his composure and says quietly: “You shouldn’t feel like this. You don’t deserve to feel like this.”

“Oh, _vhenan_.” She motions him to join her in bed again. “Everyone gets sick. It’s perfectly normal, especially after falling into icy water.”

“No, it is not.” He sits on the bed again, laying the wet cloth on her forehead. It feels wonderfully cold on her skin and she sighs with relief. “There was a time when the elves knew no sickness, no disease, except for those caused by wrong, corrupted magic. They didn’t fall ill.”

“That was a long time ago.” she reminds him and he brushes his thumb across her kind, warm smile. “Things are different, now.” Something akin to longing flashes in her golden eyes, like it does every time he speaks of ancient Elvhenan. “I know we lost much. It would be wonderful if no more Dalish and city elves could ever fall sick again.”

He makes a low sound that sounds like a whine, a lament, and he rests his forehead against her warm chest, listening to her beating heart. His hands are on her hips, stroking the hot skin he feels through the embroidered nightgown, and his next words are almost inaudible: “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not. But we can do nothing about it.” she comforts him, caressing his bald head, and when he raises his head again, there are tears in his eyes.

“The elves deserve more than this.” he says. “ _You_ deserve more than this.”

“Solas…” She’s getting worried, now. She knows he hides a deep pain into his heart - Cole confirmed this multiple times with his cryptic comments -, but today he looks and sounds particularly sorrowful. Is it because he saw her being sick? Now that she thinks about it, she’s been badly hurt before and he always reacted this way, panicked, almost desperate, as if suddenly aware of her mortality, and sad, gloomy.

“I’m sorry. Ignore this old man’s words, _vhenan_.” He smiles, a small, weak thing that barely lightens his eyes up and shifts the muscles of his face. “I will go call the healer.” He kisses her chest and her lips, then he gets up, covers her better with the blankets and furs, and quickly leaves the room, not caring about the night clothes he’s wearing.

He’s back just a few minutes later, basically dragging the healer by the arm and speaking quickly, repeating all the symptoms Scarlet has. Cole is with him, a silent shadow that sits next to her and takes her hand, patting it gently, like a brother would do with his sick sister.

The healer touches her throat and forehead, looks into her mouth, checks her pulse and breathing, and then candidly says: “It’s just a cold, your Worship. With the right potions and food, you’ll be up in no time.”

“What about the fever?” Solas asks, glaring at the human woman. “The ache in her throat!”

The healer arches an eyebrow, eyeing him with amusement, and replies: “Those are the most common symptoms. Her Worship will have to bear with them for a short while.”

“But magic…! A spell might help her, let me try!”

“Like it helped you when you were sick, Messere Solas?” The woman shakes her head, her dry amusement moving from her eyes to her lips, too. “Magic can heal many things, but certain sicknesses are beyond a mage’s abilities. Otherwise, the poor and miserable of Thedas wouldn’t suffer like they do.”

Solas bites his lips and looks at Scarlet, who’s half-asleep, drifting between the waking world and the Fade, with its dreams and visions which will be probably stranger than ever, now that she’s affected by the high fever.

“My magic is strong.” he murmurs, a final protest against the healer’s words, but she doesn’t even listen to him and proceeds to list all the things Scarlet must eat to get better faster, food to be requested to the cooks, potions she will personally prepare and send later.

“Thank you.” Solas quietly says as she passes next to him and leaves. He’s been watching Scarlet for the whole time and once he’s alone with her and Cole, he quickly joins them. She briefly wakes up, then, and looks up at him with a drowsy smile.

“Hello, _vhenan_.”

“Hello, my heart.” He smiles, too, and caresses her hair. “Rest. You need to sleep.”

She makes a low sound and cuddles into his embrace. He helps her rest her head on his chest and she fights a little, at first, not wanting him to fall sick again, but he assures he will be fine and she’s too weak and sleepy to insist.

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she murmurs, slowly closing her eyes, and Solas presses a kiss on her brow, replying tenderly: “Always, _ma sa’lath_. Wait for me there.”

Only when he’s sure she is deeply asleep, Cole speaks.

“You’re scared.”

Solas nods, swallowing, his eyes fixated on Scarlet’s serene sleeping face.

“I am.”

“Wounds and cuts and burns can be healed. They are outside and just a little bit inside, visible, and magic can reach them. But fever and labored breaths are hidden, you can feel them and hear them, but the spells don’t always affect them.”

Solas nods and he rests his cheek on top of Scarlet’s head, taking a deep, shaky breath that sounds like the prelude to tears. He keeps caressing her hair, his other hand stroking her right one.

The spirit boy waits a moment, then softly continues: “It reminds you of the Blight. It’s not the same thing, but you are not used to sickness. The only one you ever saw in the old, singing world was that red, mad one found in the wounded Earth.”

“Yes.” Solas swallows again and slightly moves his head to look at Scarlet. Tears are shining in his eyes, now, and Cole repeats, softer than before: “It’s not the same thing.”

“I know.”

“She won’t die, just like you didn’t die.”

“I know.” Solas looks at him, a tear running down his cheek. “But I can’t do anything to help her. I can’t help her, I am useless. My magic is useless.”

“You can stay with her.” Cole reminds him, smiling. “That will help her.”

He nods at her, adding: “Warm, he’s so warm. A strong scent, of trees and soil, of paper and old books. She feels safe and loved. She’s dreaming the wolves.”

Solas chokes on a sob, but he’s also smiling, now, and he presses light, delicate kisses on Scarlet’s happy face.

She wakes up much later. Cole left the room when Solas fell asleep, but her _vhenan_ is awake, now, and he’s stirring the hot soup a servant brought straight from the kitchens, prepared using the healer’s instructions.

There are flowers and various gifts on the couch, “all gifts from the others”, Solas says with a smile. Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra came to visit, but left immediately after realizing she was sleeping and they promised they would come back later.

“How do you feel?” he asks, sitting next to the bed on a chair, the bowl of soup and a spoon in his hands.

“Better. I think the fever went down a little and my throat doesn’t hurt as much as before.” She sniffs the air and looks down at her body, groaning. “Creators, I’m sweating like a sinner in a chantry!”

Solas laughs boyishly and leans down to press a loud kiss on her lips, making her blush, babble happily, but also complain: “Solas, stop it, or you will get sick again!”

“No, I won’t.” he promises, smiling lovingly and moving the spoon near her mouth. “Here, _vhenan_. This will make you feel better.”

He feeds her – and it makes both of them blush and smile timidly at each other -, then he helps her lie more comfortably in bed, adjusting the blankets and furs around her. He brings her all the handkerchiefs he can find in their room, then he massages her feet while narrating a short story that makes both of them laugh.

She tugs at his night clothes – which he hasn’t taken off yet – and he’s soon back at her side in bed, an open book on his lap, her head on his chest like before, listening to him read and watching his fingers turn the thin, yellow pages with care. Those same long fingers also caress her hair and cheek and he often stops reading to kiss her lips.

After half an hour, the book lies closed on the dresser and they are holding each other under the heavy blankets and pelts. Scarlet’s fever is indeed lower than before and Solas’ panic subsides, as he sees her smile and talk.

“You’re so warm, _vhenan_.” she suddenly says, nuzzling the space where his heart beats. “You always are, but especially here, where your heart is.”

“It’s because _you_ are my heart.” he says, kissing her face. “As long as you are with me, I will keep living.”

She laughs and giggles – and this time that glorious sound doesn’t end with a coughing fit -, but then she looks at him with love, because he was serious and he’s looking at her in the same way, and they are both smiling.

“Let us sleep some more.” he softly says, fixing the blankets on her shoulders. “I am sure the others will make sure to let us know they are here.”

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she asks again, their ritual, while kissing the warm space where his heart is beating fast. And he replies, holding her safe in his arms:

“Always, _vhenan_.”


End file.
